


Just Like This

by keep_waking_up



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Sam, M/M, Mentions of hell, Rape Fantasy, Ravishment, References to Het-sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_waking_up/pseuds/keep_waking_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the boys are fucking, Sam has a kink, Dean freaks out a lot, and Sam has to explain a lot of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Set in an AU after season 5 where Sam went to hell, but Cas pulled him out with his soul after about a year. This is set a few years later.

If Dean had known sleeping with his brother would mean he’d have pretty much constant access to the maze that was Sam’s noggin, he would’ve started fucking him a long time ago.

It wasn’t always the best thing; Sam was normally all about talking and being in a ‘relationship’ with him meant quite a few deep chats Dean could’ve done without. But it also meant that Sam was suddenly willing to talk about his sex life before Dean. Which was something Dean had been frothing at the mouth to know for years. Sam was a hot guy, swung both ways; obviously there’d been some pretty hot sex in the past. Dean wanted to know about it. And then go jerk off to it.

Sam had been irritatingly closed-mouthed about it for years, but apparently Dean’s dick was the key to getting him talking. Now, Dean could ask about anything and Sam thought it was important to tell him because it related to their relationship. After Sam told him about losing his virginity, Dean had been half-hard for days. Days. ‘Cause turned out the idea of Sammy getting his cherry popped by a tiny, ginger Stanford cheerleader riding the fuck out of him? Was fucking hot.

Made driving a hell of a lot more interesting. They’ve been playing a whole lot of ‘have you ever’. Turns out, Sammy was way kinkier than Dean would’ve ever guessed. Also, Dean’s pretty sure he has an oral fixation. Nearly every story he tells involves him licking or sucking on something.

In the aftermath of another one of Dean’s ‘ate-out-her-pussy-then-fucked-her-ass’ stories, Sam’s watching his mouth with a kind of glazed expression. Dean is pretty sure he knows exactly who he’ll be rimming that night.

He refuses to blush because whatever, he’s Dean Winchester, sex god. Instead, he clears his throat and focuses on the road. “So yeah. That was hot. Definitely makes my top ten.” His top ten before Sam, because sex with Sam has blown everything else out of the water. But Sam knows that and he’s not enough of a chick to say it out loud. “What about you, man? How ‘bout… Best kinky sex? You’ve got to have a good one I haven’t heard.”

He can see Sam blushing in the rearview mirror. Blushing always looks funny on Sam, the flush all red and splotchy over Sam’s face. Besides, he’s never grown out of the tendency to try to curl in on himself in embarrassment, and with a six-five body, that shit just looks silly. “Dude, I think you’re getting off more on my stories than the actual sex we’re having.”

Shrugging, Dean flashes Sam a grin as he settles back in his seat. That wasn’t a no. “Maybe I like what a kinky little fuck my little brother turned out to be.”

“Would hope you like it,” Sam snorts. “If we weren’t both incredibly kinky, as well as incredibly fucked up, we would never have had sex in the first place.”

“Normal people are missing out then.” Dean pats Sam’s thigh and leaves his hand resting there before he realizes what he’s doing. He touches Sam a lot now without thinking about it. It’s instinct for him; he’s a naturally affectionate person and the few times he’s really dated a girl, he spent most of his time with an arm around them or touching them somehow. It’s still weird for him and Sam though. It’ll happen and they won’t notice, and then they do and both of them have mild freak-outs. This time Dean sets his jaw and massages Sam’s thigh a little. If he wants to feel up Sam’s leg (which is very nice, by the way), then he god damn will.

Sam’s still staring at the hand like it’s diseased, so Dean gives him a little shake and grins confidently. “C’mon. Tell me a dirty story Sam. Kinkiest thing ever.”

Fidgeting in his seat, Sam huffs out a breath. His brows are all furrowed like he’s really contemplating the relative kinkiness of his sexual encounters. His mouth opens a few times, and then closes again, before he finally blurts out. “Roleplaying. I did some roleplaying once.”

Instantly, Dean’s imagination is filled with images. “Dude, awesome! Was it like, naughty nurse? Or was she a maid? Or, oh my god, tell me you did Princess Leia roleplay. There had to have been some hot nerd girl willing do that with you—”

“No!” Sam cuts him off quickly and there is that blush again. His shoulders are tensed as well this time and he is staring straight ahead, not looking at Dean at all. “No. I didn’t—it was with a guy.”

“Oh.”

Dean knows Sam has been with other guys, but Sam hasn’t been nearly as caring and sharing about his experiences with them. Whenever Dean had brought it up, he’d answered with one or two word sentences, just the bare facts, not even what the guys had looked like. It was always ‘first time I got fucked was sophomore year at Stanford’ or ‘really drunk the first time a guy went down on me’. This. This was details.

Trying to be casual, Dean does a little shrug. “Cool, man. So, were you the naughty nurse?”

“Oh my god!” Sam hides his face in his hands. “No, dude. God, no. There were no skirts involved.”

Well. That’s kind of disappointing. Legs like Sam’s should be put in a skirt at least once. Well, maybe Dean would get to do it. “So far, I’m not getting the kink-factor out of this man.”

Sam stiffens, as if he’d almost forgotten what they were talking about in his horror over the idea of him in a skirt. His hands don’t move from his face. “It was, uh…” He clears his throat and puts his hands in his lap, looking down at them. “We pretended he was, um, forcing me.” There are a few moments of silence before Sam clarifies. “We pretended he was raping me.”

“What?” Dean’s throat is dry. He can’t believe he’s heard right. “You pretended… What?”

“That he was raping me,” Sam repeats, voice stronger this time. “You know, rape-fantasy. It’s pretty normal.”

“Great. Normal. That’s always…” Dean shakes his head to clear it and starts again. “So, that, uh, gets you off then? Pretending that someone is, um—”

“Raping me? Yeah, that’s kinda what a rape-fantasy is, by definition.” Sam sighs.

“I didn’t… I just didn’t have any idea that that was something you’d be into?” It comes out as more of a question than Dean means it to. He glances at Sammy out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, you don’t really seem like—”

Sam rolls his eyes and instantly seems about ten years younger, back when he was a bratty teenager. “I don’t actually want to be raped, Dean. That’s why there’s the ‘fantasy’ part.”

“I don’t get it,” Dean says bluntly.

“I got that,” Sam snipes back, turning his back to Dean as much as he can within the confines of the car.

They travel in silence for a few minutes before Dean heaves a breath. “Look, I’m not trying to be insensitive or anything. I just—I can’t see how that’d be something you’re into. I don’t understand how you could want that.”

The hard line of Sam’s shoulders softens and he turns his neck to peer at Dean warily. “I never expected you to get it. I mean, I don’t think it’s something you could get. It’s not you.” He purses his lips and his fingers move to fiddle with the hem of his plaid shirt. “It’s like… All the psychological essays I’ve read on it talk about the complete loss of control, the idea of being controlled or forced to enjoy something. I don’t know if that’s it for me. For me, it’s more like… I like the idea of someone wanting me so much that they have to have me, I guess.”

“But like…” Dean pauses, trying to be careful with his words in a way he almost never is. “You were safe, right? Like, you would’ve been able to do something if he’d actually hurt you?”

Sam sends him an amused look. “We had a safe-word, if that’s what you’re asking. And I could’ve thrown him off if I really wanted to. There was a lot of pretending involved.”

“So.” Dean clears his throat, trying to dispel the car of its solemn atmosphere. “That’s your kinkiest thing?”

“What, not kinky enough?” Sam jokes gamely and surprises Dean into laughing.

“No, I think that’s about all the kink I can take.” Dean pauses and shoots Sam a look. “That rape-fantasy thing—”

“Oh my god, this is gonna be a thing for you, isn’t it?”

Dean ignores him. “Is it something… I just want you to know, I’m not sure I could do that for you. If you wanted to do that again, that is. I don’t think—”

“I know.” Sam’s voice is completely neutral and Dean can’t tell anything by looking at his face. “I wouldn’t ask you for it.”

“But you want me to.” It isn’t a question and Dean doesn’t need to look at Sam’s face to know he’s right. “This is, like, a thing for you, isn’t it? How many times have you done it?”

“Just the once.” Sam screws up his face like he’s eaten something bitter. “It’s not that I want you to, so much as… It takes a lot of trust. And I couldn’t ever trust someone enough to really, completely let go.” The unspoken ‘I could trust you’ hangs in the air between them. “Look, just forget about it okay?”

Dean starts to say something, but a glare from Sam shuts him up fast. They drive for the next few hours in silence.  
*  
The next time Sam leaves him alone in the motel room, Dean makes a beeline for the laptop. He goes straight to Wikipedia. Ten minutes later he’s on Google. He’s still on Google when Sam gets back with the food.

His brother shoots him an odd look. “Okay, that’s not your porn face. What’re you looking at?”

“Did you know that people in the BDSM community prefer to call it ravishment?” It pops out before he has time to think it through. “That’s bullshit though. I mean, ravishment? Really? What the fuck?”

Sam sets the food down gingerly before pushing his laptop closed. “Pretty sure it’s because they don’t like having the word ‘rape’ involved in something that’s consensual.”

“But it’s a rape-fantasy,” Dean protests, ignoring the side-eyed looks Sam is giving him. “Call it what it is.”

Crossing his arms, Sam looks down at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you really trying to start an argument about BDSM terms?”

Dean blushes a little and kicks his foot against the floor. “I’m just saying,” he mutters, and moves to get up, only to be thwarted by Sam pushing him back into his chair.

Sam takes a seat in the other chair, leaning forward with the earnest expression that normally means he wants to have a heart-to-heart. “Look, I get that you’re curious about this for whatever reason. But how ‘bout talking to me next time, instead of Googling it? You’ll get a lot better answers.”

There is one thing, besides the obvious, that Dean’s been turning over in his mind ever since Sam first brought this up. “The guy,” he says, interrupting Sam as he dishes out the food. “The guy that you did this with.”

“What about him?” Sam’s eyes are guarded again, and Dean can already tell he won’t get a name, no matter how much he wants one.

Dean sighs, setting his plate down when Sam hands it to him. “Look, I just spent the past hour or so reading a whole bunch of horror stories about this sort of thing going wrong. I just… You said there was a lot of trust involved. How did—how could you trust this guy?”

Sam eyes him with consideration as he takes a bite of his salad. “Ummm…” He hums through his food, then swallows. “We’d been having casual sex for a while. He was a pretty close friend at the time. He was the first guy I let fuck me, so… There was a trusting relationship established there.” He knocks his foot against Dean’s and smiles softly. “I was careful, okay? I didn’t do this with some guy I met on Craig’s List or anything, so you don’t have to worry.”

“But you’d trust me? To do this. Even though I might be able to actually hold you.” The thought sets the bile roiling in his stomach again and he sets down his food.

Sam looks at him blankly. “Of course I trust you. You’re my brother.” He blinks, then realizes what he just said and grins. “Okay, awkward time to use that, but…” He tilts his head to the side and entwines their legs. “You couldn’t actually do that to me. Ever. I know that. If there is one thing I know, it’s that you’d never intentionally hurt me.”

“I’ve hurt people before,” Dean mutters and Sam’s face twists with anger.

“You’ve never raped someone before, Dean!”

“In hell—”

“It’s different. I think at this point we can both say that’s different.” Sam’s face is pale as he rests his forehead against Dean.  
“Whatever happened in the pit, whatever we did there… That’s not us. You know that. You wouldn’t blame me for things I did, would you?”

“No.”

“Then stop beating yourself up.” Sam pulls back and says, “I trust you Dean. I trust you more than me. You should trust yourself.” Finished, he stands, closing the lids on the food. “So, are you looking up all this stuff because you’re abnormally curious about my past sex life or because you’re interested?”

“A little of both?” Dean hedges, relaxing back into his seat. “I don’t know. Thought if you liked it… Well there had to be something about it, you know?”

Sam hums in response. He’s carefully not looking at Dean when he resumes speaking. “If this is something you maybe want to do… We should work up to it. It’s not something we can just… do.” Dean opens his mouth, but maybe Sam can sense him or something because he cuts him off. “And I don’t want it to be just something you do for me. I want you to do because you want to, not because you feel like you have to for me. Okay?”

“But if I was interested—”

“Think on it Dean,” Sam says firmly, before climbing into his lap. “Sleep on it, drive on it, whatever. Right now, however…” He grins, dimples popping out and making his grin look cheeky as fuck. “I have better things you can focus on.”

Rimming Sam stupid is definitely better things. As he’s licking at Sam, Dean thinks maybe he should listen to his little brother more often.  
*

A couple of days later, they’re tucked in the corner booth of a local bar. Dean’s got a plate of curly fries, a cold beer, and Sam in a tight black shirt opposite him. It’s a perfect night and Dean is just tipsy enough to feel like talking. He sets his beer on the table and kicks at Sam’s foot. “How the fuck would we even do it?”

Sam turns to him, eyebrows slightly raised. His cheeks are flushed from the muggy atmosphere of the bar and Dean just wants to lick him all over. “Do what?”

“Your thing,” Dean answers. Seeing that Sam doesn’t get it, he sighs and rolls his eyes. “You know. Your thing. The thing we were talking about the other day?”

Lips twitching, Sam nods then darts a glance around him. “You really want to talk about it here?”

“Don’t be a prude, Sam. No one’s gonna hear.” Dean slouches back in his seat. “You said you wanted to talk about it. So talk.”

Sam sneers a little, shaking his head. “It’s not about me talking, Dean. It’s about having a conversation. Figuring out each other’s boundaries, talking about what we would want to do. This isn’t a one-way street.”

“Get your panties out of a bunch. I’m here—” Dean throws his arms out to the side, lulling his head to one side “—ready and willing to talk. So let’s talk. What’d you want to talk about.”

“Okay.” Sam’s jaw is tense as he leans forward to rest his arms on the table. “Let’s talk about why the fuck you want to do it in the first place.”

Dean throws his arms up in the air. “We already talked about this!”

“No, Dean.” Sam says in his name in that tone of voice that means he’s being ridiculous. “I asked and you spat out whatever bullshit you thought I’d go for. Like, one day you tell me that there’s no way you could do this for me and the next you’re talking about how you want to do it for me. That kind of turn around doesn’t make sense Dean, unless you’ve got some messed up reason for being so stuck on this.”

“Maybe the idea just grew on me. Huh? What about that?” Dean sticks out his chin and crosses his arms, kicking one foot angrily under the table and hoping he hits Sam. “I’m an experimental kinda guy. Maybe I’m just interested.”

Sam just stares at him with a flat expression. “Dean. It took you two months to get used to the idea of me fingering you while I blew you. You held my hands down for the first couple of weeks after I brought it up ‘cause it freaked you out that bad. Then I bring up rape-fantasy and you’re instantly cool with it? Bullshit.”

Sometimes it really sucks that Sam knows him so well. Makes him almost miss the days of Lisa and her complete inability to understand him. Well. That’s a lie. But the point is, Sam’s way too observant for Dean’s comfort level.

Scratching at the back of his neck, Dean slides down on the bench until the edge of his ass hangs off of it. “I didn’t…” It’s hard to vocalize so he takes another gulp of beer and closes his eyes as he mutters, “I don’t want someone to have had you some way I haven’t.”

After five seconds of silence, he peers up at Sam through his lashes and cringes a little. Sam got that look in his eyes, the one that says Dean’s done something incredibly romantic and Sam’s going to spend the next couple of days sending him gooey looks out of the corners of his eyes, and want to spoon and shit. Dean grimaces and shifts uncomfortably in his chair before Sam ducks his head with a wry grin. “Well then.” Sam pauses before clearing his throat and wiping his face of emotion. “I guess we should get talking then.”

Relieved that that was over, Dean nods hurriedly. “Talking. Sounds good. Alright. So.” He pauses, having no idea where to go next, but Sam doesn’t jump in helpfully. “Uh, how do you wanna do this thing?”

“Not any time soon.” Sam leans back and he’s smirking at Dean now. Definitely making fun of him. “If we do decide to do this later, we’ll pick a week or so that it will happen within. You won’t let me know when it’s going to happen. We’ll probably set up our motel room before that week, so no matter when you decide to go through with it, we’ll be prepared.”

“Uh, okay.” Dean feels like he should be taking notes. “So, I don’t have to, like, assault you in alley?”

Sam raises an eyebrow, snorting a little. “I’m going to be saying no. Probably loudly. Not a good idea in a public place.”

Dean’s blushing, flustered by Sam’s own nonchalance about it. “So… You’re going to be, like, resisting or something. And then I’d have to… I’d have to hold you down?”

Sam bites his lower lip thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have to hold me down the whole time. I can get a set of cuffs that attach to a bed. We’d set those up beforehand and then you’d just have to wrestle me onto the bed and tie me up.”

Dean’s feeling a little bit sick. He’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the discussion. “Would you be able to release the cuffs? If you really wanted to.”

“No,” Sam says firmly, narrowing his eyes at Dean a little. “The set I’d buy are pretty inescapable without other tools.” He pauses before moving his foot under the table to rub against Dean’s soothingly. “I trust you. I trust that if I say my safe-word you’ll stop. And I don’t think I’ll ever have to use my safe-word with you.”

“I’d feel better if they had releases.” This is one thing Dean can put his foot down on. If he’s going to do this, he’s gonna make it as safe as Sam as possible. When Sam opens his mouth to protest, Dean glares at him. “I know you trust me or whatever, but I—”

“Don’t,” Sam finishes, mouth pursing in disappointment. “Alright. Fine. This is about compromise, so I’ll get the cuffs with self-releases. Okay?”

Nodding, Dean drums his fingers against the table. “Okay.” He squirms a little, before telling himself to man up and just talk. “So, you mentioned safe-words?”

Sam’s mouth twists with wry amusement. “Mine’s always been Kansas. I can change that if it’d make you more comfortable.”

There’s something so Sam about choosing Kansas as his safe-word. Dean snorts under his breath. “No, that’s fine. That’ll definitely make me stop and take notice. Better than ‘eggplant’ or something.”

“Eggplant?” Raising his eyebrows, Sam smirks at him. “Is that really what you think safewords are? Vegetables?”

“It was just an example!” Dean kicks Sam’s shin vindictively and grins when he flinches. “Okay. So. Is that it?”

Sam shakes his head with amusement. “No. There’s more. But not here.” He glances again at the bar, standing up. It’s getting later in the evening, and a few of the other customers are getting rowdy. “C’mon. Let’s head out.”

Dean eases up to his feet, making sure he can walk steadily with the alcohol still running through his veins. He follows Sam’s broad shoulders through the crowd, looking at how big his little brother has grown. Tall and strong and broad. Sam is taller than anyone else in the bar, bigger. He could probably take on any of the other men there. But he wants Dean to wrestle him down and hold him there and take him.

He shakes his head at the image, not objecting when Sam slides into the driver’s seat of the Impala. The passenger’s seat is strange and uncomfortable for him, even though he’d spent most of his teen years right there, looking over at his father. In the stark streetlight, he can see flashes of his father in Sam. He shudders and turns to look out the window.

A few minutes later, Sam parks in front of the motel, but neither of them bother to get out. It is still slightly uncomfortable, but it would be even worse in the motel. At least the Impala is their space. Sam looks over at Dean with a small smile. “Want to switch seats?”

Dean barks out a laugh, surprised. “No, I’m good.” He takes a deep breath and nods. “Alright. Let’s get this over with. Lay the rest on me.” He holds up his hand to stop Sam before he can start talking. “If I have something to say, I’ll speak up. But I have no idea about any of this. So you just talk, and I’ll listen and… listen. Right. So talk.”

Sam leans back in his seat, hand resting leisurely on the gear-shift. His eyes look out the window straight ahead, as if he’s pretending Dean’s not in the car. Dean doesn’t bother pretending. He keeps his eyes on Sam’s profile as his brother speaks. “I don’t like the humiliation aspect of rape-fantasy. I don’t want to be told I’m a whore and a slut and that’s why you have a right to do this to me.”

Dean’s stomach churns at the idea and he gags a little. “Thank god,” he mutters under his breath and Sam laughs breathlessly.

“Like I told you the first time, I like… I get off on the idea of being irresistible. Of someone wanting me so much that they have to have me. What I want is probably more like ‘ravishment’ than anything.” He smirks at that, sliding his eyes to meet Dean’s for a moment. “So I don’t want you to be rough with me past getting me into place.”

“Okay,” Dean agrees softly.

“So, if you’re going to talk or something, don’t trash talk. I’m not going to… tell you what to say, obviously. But, just…”

“Ravishment.”

“Yeah.”

There’s some silence after that and Dean inches his hand towards Sam’s. “What else?”

Sam shot a glance at Dean’s hand before sighing. “Just… aftercare. After the scene is over, I’m going to be pretty drained. You’ll need to take the cuffs off and clean up. And… take care of me.”

“Take care as in…?” Dean trails off, trying to summon the sparse knowledge he had picked up when he’d first researched. “Like, cuddling and shit?”

Red flushed over Sam’s cheeks. “Why don’t you just look it up?” he snaps before calming down and running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m going to be in an emotionally vulnerable place after the scene. I’m gonna need comforting. And if you call me a girl once—”

“I’m not going to!” Dean cuts him off, almost as embarrassed as Sam is. “This is new for me, man. Whatever you want, whatever makes it easier for you, I’ll do it. No teasing. I promise.”

“Alright.” Their hands are close enough that the slight movement of Sam’s pinky brushes their fingers together. “That’s pretty much all I can think of right now. If I think of anything else, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

A few minutes of silence pass. Dean lets his fingers rest against Sam’s and tries to ignore the instinctive urge to push him away. He and Sam are like this now. He wants to be like this. He wants this comfortable intimacy. He wants to get over all of his hang-ups and have this. Him and Sam. Just like this.

Sam is the one that finally breaks the moment. He sighs calmly and nods once. “We should head inside. Get some sleep.”

“Just sleep?” Dean tries, leering a little, and is pleased when Sam laughs freely. “I mean, I’m game if you are—”

“Let’s just sleep tonight, Dean.” Dean pouts as Sam gets out of the car until Sam smirks back at him. “Tomorrow morning however…”

Dean scrambles out of the car as fast as he can.

*

A few weeks later, they pull into Rocky Mountain’s Cabin Motel. Each of the rooms is its own little building, separated from the other rooms by a good five hundred feet of forest. Sam looks over at Dean after he comes back with the keys.

“So. This week?” Dean asks.

“Yeah.” Sam nods, swallows, and follows Dean back to their room where Dean watches Sam attach the leather cuffs to each corner of the bed.  
*  
Dean’s heart is thumping as he stands outside the door. He’d left thirty minutes ago, supposedly to refresh their gun-cleaning kits. Instead, he had taken a short walk, trying to pep-talk himself. They’d agreed on this week, and they’d be leaving in two days. The anticipation had been driving Dean crazy. He needs to get it over with, get it done. Hopefully, Sam will be happy and won’t think he’s a complete and utter failure. He just needs to walk in that door and grab Sam, that’s all. He can do it. Not a big deal.

He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open.

Sam’s got his back to him, which is perfect. He must’ve just gotten out of the shower, because he’s not wearing anything besides a towel and he’s dripping wet. He’s shuffling through his duffel bag on the bed, hunched over and unaware. Dean couldn’t have planned it better.

He’s nearly shaking with nerves as he creeps towards Sam, trying not to make a sound as he comes up behind him and grabs him. He splays a palm across Sam’s mouth and loops the other around his waist. Sam makes a sharp, shocked little sound as Dean throws him onto the bed before climbing on after him.

“What’re you—No, stop—” Sam’s kicking out at him, twisting his head around to stare at Dean with wide, frightened eyes. Swallowing, Dean balls one hand in Sam’s hair as he straddles his back, forcing Sam’s face into the pillow in front of him. He can’t see those eyes looking at him like that or he’ll never be able to go through with it.

Sam’s bucking under him, and Dean plants a knee in the middle of his back to hold him down as he grabs the top right cuff and attempts to latch it around Sam’s wrist. Sam’s fighting too much, all short, desperate movements that scream of the haze of panic. It’s like Sam’s forgotten all of his training, and is controlled only by his instincts. It makes Dean shudder, even as he cuffs Sam’s right wrist. He hesitates over the left one, trying to tune out Sam’s mantra of “no, no, stop, please”. What is Sam really is frightened? What if Dean has already done something wrong and Sam is so freaked out that he can’t even remember his goddamn safeword?

Dean hesitates. His grip loosens on Sam’s arm and Sam pulls it out of his grasp with a surprised jerk. He’s flailing a bit less, as if he can tell Dean is stopping. He’s still, panting, a heap of too-long-limbs and brown hair. Dean moves to get off of him.  
As he’s climbing off, Sam whips his head around to stare him right in the eyes. There’s still terror, still panic, but now that things are still, Dean can see a bit better. Those emotions are just surface ones. Underneath there’s something desperate and needy, but more importantly, trusting. Sam wants this, Sam needs this, and he’s trusting Dean to give it to him, not leave him high and dry halfway through.

With newfound determination, Dean settles back down on top of Sam, yanking his left wrist up to attach it to the cuff. Sam’s thrashing and screaming again, but Dean ignores it as he cuffs his ankles. For the sake of his own mind, he’s just going to have to think of it as a weird sort of foreplay for Sam. If he thinks about what they’re actually simulating, he doesn’t think he could do it.

Whipping off the towel, Dean palms Sam’s ass, drinking in Sam’s whimpers greedily and ignoring the words those whimpers form. There’s only one word he would hear and Sam hasn’t shown any sign of saying it yet. “So pretty,” he whispers, mostly to himself. But Sam’s cock, already hard and leaking, gives a jump and he remembers what Sam had said. Ravishment. Right.

He crawls up Sam’s back, nosing at his ear and licking the skin of his neck. “So fucking pretty, all wet and tan. Miles of fucking legs. You gotta know how you look, gotta know what guys see when they look at you. Saw you and wasn’t able to stop myself… teasing me in that tiny little towel, made me.” He’s pulling out whatever words he can find, remembering how he’d felt on nights when Sam was doing pull ups in the bathroom doorway of whatever run-of-the-mill motel they were at and refused to stop to have sex.

“So pretty,” he repeats, ‘cause he’s a little stuck on that. Sam’s gorgeous, even though he’s shaking and pleading for him to stop. Dean thinks he might be crying, but he does his best to ignore that as well. “Look at you. Gonna be so good to you. Touch every part of that pretty little body of yours. Make you want it. Make you want it as bad as you make me want it.”

It’s a shame that Sam is strapped down on his front, because Dean would kill to get his mouth on those nipples, but he makes do with bringing his hands around to Sam’s chest to tug on them. Sam shouts in surprise, body twisting for the first time with desire instead of the need to escape. Dean runs one of his hands down Sam’s flank soothingly and hushes him. “Yeah, I know baby”—and he’s never called Sam ‘baby’ before but suddenly it feels right—“I know you want it. Looking so fucking pretty, walking around in that fucking towel… So perfect for it. Gonna make you love it. Gonna make you beg for it.” He palms Sam’s ass again before leaning down to suck a hickey into the small of his back. “Gonna make you want me back.”

“Please!” Sam begs, and he’s definitely crying. “Please stop! God, please!” The skin around his eyes is blotchy and red, but his pupils are dilated with arousal.

Dean isn’t going to be able to keep this up much longer. He gives his dick a few strong tugs to keep it from wilting at the expression on Sam’s face. “Don’t worry baby,” he says, pushing Sam’s face back around front. “Gonna want more by the time I’m done with you. You’ll be glad I did this then.”

He’d fucked Sam earlier that afternoon, so when he pulls Sam’s cheeks apart to look at him, he isn’t surprised that Sam is a bit looser than usual. He leans down to nose at Sam’s hole and imagines he can still smell his spunk in there. “Pretty,” he murmurs against Sam’s skin, just to feel him shiver, before he licks a stripe up Sam’s crack. Sam jumps and curses under him, words dragging out into a wail as Dean repeats the motion slowly, over and over. He circles Sam’s hole with his tongue, occasionally flicking the edges, just to hear the little moan Sam gives every time. He loves rimming, loves taking his time with it. Sam has always stopped him before, complaining about it being too much of a tease. He almost smiles when he realizes Sam can’t stop him now.

He’s breathing deeply as he laps at Sam’s skin, sometimes pausing for a minute just to take in Sam’s smell slowly mixing with his. He slowly and leisurely covers every inch of Sam’s ass; licking and biting at his cheeks, nosing at his perineum, and even sucking on his balls. There’s a fine layer of spit glistening on Sam’s skin by the time Dean pushes his tongue into Sam’s hole.

Sam howls and thrashes under him, pushing his ass back against Dean’s face one moment and pulling away the next, like he can’t decide what he wants. He’s chanting “please, please, please, please” and Dean doesn’t think Sam even knows whether he wants it to stop or wants more. Dean grabs his hips, holding him steady as he licks at him roughly, making the decision for him.

There’s lube on the bedside table, ‘cause Sam’s a boyscout like that. Dean pulls away from Sam’s ass for two seconds to grab at it, before he’s nosing back in, fucking Sam with his tongue as he lubes up his cock.

Sam’s a pliant, loose, wanton mess at this point. His knees are shaking so bad that he can’t hold himself up, so Dean shoves a pillow under his hips instead, angling that perfect ass up so he can slide his cock right in.

They both moan in sync and Sam fucks back on his cock even as he pounds his fists against the mattress. “S-stop,” he sputters out, but it’s more of a moan of defeat than anything. “P-p-please.”

“No.” Dean says, and snaps his hips forward, fucking Sam into the mattress as he cries out. “No. Made for this, made to be fucked, gonna give it to you—” He has no idea what he’s saying anymore; all he can focus on is the tight clench of Sam’s ass around his dick, the broken little sounds Sam is making. “Prove it to you, prove how you good you are. Look at you, so perfect and taking it.” He grinds down into Sam and tightens his hands on those narrow little hips. “So fucking gorgeous, so fucking hot—!”

Sam flings back his head with a cry as Dean pounds into his prostate. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, please—!” It’s barely been four minutes but Sam is already clenching sporadically around him. Dean fumbles around to get a hand on Sam’s dick, jerking him a few times before Sam’s mouth tightens in an obscene ‘o’ and he comes with a loud strangled noise.

Dean slams in one more time, reveling in the feel of Sam’s muscles clamping down on him, Sam getting all this pleasure, before he’s coming as well, filling Sam up with him.

When he’s aware enough to think again, he pulls out slowly, wincing as Sam’s muscles flex around him instinctively. Sam lets out a hissing noise as Dean carefully pulls the pillow out from under his hips and uncuffs him. He’s still shaking a little bit, so Dean puts off clean-up and simply crawls into bed beside Sam, pulling his exhausted body back against Dean’s chest. He nuzzles into Sam’s hair worriedly. “Are you okay, man?

Sam laughs, a watery hoarse sound, but it makes Dean feel better nonetheless. “Yeah. Yeah. Definitely. Just let me…” He’s still crying a bit, from shock or exhaustion or what, Dean can’t tell. He snuggles closer and pets Sam as comfortingly as he can, letting him work whatever it is out.

Finally, Sam turns around and smiles weakly at Dean before burrowing his face into Dean’s neck. “God, I feel gross.”

“Want me to clean up?” Dean offers, already moving to stand.

“No!” Sam grabs at his arm and pulls him back down, pushing Dean onto his back so he can sprawl on top of him. “Just lay here. And pet my hair. And tell me how awesome I am.”

“You’re awesome,” Dean deadpans and stills his hand on Sam’s back so he can feel him laugh. “Seriously though. Everything’s okay? I didn’t hurt you or anything?”

Sam looks up at him with weary but loving hazel eyes. “No Dean. You were perfect. Thank you.”  
He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods and keeps running his hand through Sam’s hair as his brother’s breath evens out and he falls asleep. It’s kind of uncomfortable. Sam’s head is too heavy and Dean’s arm is beginning to fall asleep. But he lays there a little while longer. He doesn’t feel quite like moving yet.


End file.
